Only when accelerating can you feel the motion
by AboutMoving
Summary: Daine and Numair, starting on the boat from Carthak. A peace which may or may not be so innocent. In six parts.
1. On the boat from Carthak

**Chapter 1.**

**On the boat from Carthak, a peace which may or may not be so innocent.**

_._

_The hypnotic effects of the sea voyage_

_Could probably be blamed on the mermaids_

_Who are drunk and up to no good down below_

_Making the waves beat in such a way_

_That he can feel her breast on his arm every time the boat sways._

.

Numair thinks it has been a really long time since he has been this particular combination of seasick, drunk, hung-over, and in shock. But they are half-way between what may as well be two different worlds, and he has been drinking Alanna's questionably-medicinal brew (with questionably-beneficial effects; he is still as sea-sick as ever), so all he can do for now is smile half-druggedly at Daine, who is tucked away into the corner of his bunk, chatting happily about what she learned from the dolphins. All things considered, he could be in a worse mood.

She smiles back and shakes her head at him.

"You're in a state." She informs him. She's right. It's odd – this sudden change of pace, of setting. There aren't many distractions on the boat. He spends a lot of time thinking ("You think too much," Daine likes to say). He thinks of Ozorne. And also of Ozorne fifteen years ago, when his eyes were full of something else, not hate, and they stood shoulders pressed together and were young and bright and, arguably, in love. He thinks of Varice – who is brilliant but who never wanted that brilliance, and that is her tragedy. Of Lindhall, who had been whithering and who would have continued to whither into nothingness. He thinks of the slaves, the animals, the thick heavy heat of Carthak, its syrupy flavors, deep poisonous currents, and the walls of the palace sticky with magic. And Daine, in all the purity and fire of her spirit, amidst that muck. With its sticky tendrils creeping up and over to her. He feels a swell of protectiveness, and something else he can't quite name, but its not a bad feeling.

"Scoot." He says, getting up and moving over to sit next to her on the bunk. She does, and settles into the curve of his side, and sighs a happy little sigh, and he tightens his arm around her. It's a narrow space so he can feel her press all along his length, a fluid line of warmth.

Maybe it's not such a bad thing, he thinks, to have this week-long repose imposed. The first few days after – everything – things had been a little awkward between them. She'd been intermittently possessive and frustrated with him. He even thought she was angry with him when he spent a night, again, with Varice. But the boat ride had rocked them back into an equilibrium. Away from a court of judging eyes, they spend time together as before, in an innocent peace.

He vaguely notes that her mood has shifted from the light chatter moments ago. He is not sure if this is because he moved to sit with her. He thinks of asking, but before he can, she turns a little more into his side, and says, as though reading his mind,

"I'm OK, I promise. This is just – it's nice. I know this sounds crazy, but I almost wish we could stay here for longer. There's just a lot to deal with, once we get to home. And I do want to see Cloud, and Onua and my Rider friends, and everyone. But there's a lot of other stuff, too. And this feels – protected."

"I know." He responds.

She twists around a little more and smiles up at him, and he feels all the love and trust and warmth that's in her gaze. It's like physical temperature change in the room.

He pushes a couple of curls from her face, and then – just because he can, just because it's them, they're alone, there's no one else, there's no reason for him to stop – he continues, running his fingers down the curve of her cheek. Her skin is soft and warm, just a little weathered by the salt winds above, and he vaguely wonders why it had never occurred to him to do this particular motion before. He retraces the path a number of times, though it's different, because she leans into his hand, a little, and now his entire palm is touching her face.

He must be drunk, or drugged, or hypnotized by the rocking boat and the warmth and stillness of the cabin. But again there is no good reason to stop – so he slides his hand over her shoulder. He feels the delicate line of her collar bone. His fingers press to the pulse point at her neck (the skin _so soft _just there) and he vaguely half-notes that it flutters a little fast. She doesn't say anything, but very quietly exhales. There is a part of him that knows that his breath has quickened too, and there's a tightness stirring in his belly and groin that's familiar, but not this this setting. That part of him is very far away. Maybe back with his sensible, perfectly sober self in the bright lights of the shoreline. In this cabin, it is dim. There's a pleasant buzzing in his head, and his skin feels extra sensitive. Especially where he is touching her.

He traces his hand down her side, feels the outlines of her rips through her shirt. A small voice in the back of his mind says, maybe he should stop this, maybe this is not an appropriate thing to do. But that voice is far away and noncomitant. His face feels warm, and when his fingers catch the bit of skin over her hip where her shirt had ridden up, she arches up just a little bit into him. He turns his face into her curls, she smells like the sea now, but he likes the warmth of her nearness.

She makes a very quiet little noise when he absently brushes her hip bone. He's not aware that he catalogues it.

And he thinks about taking it further without really thinking about it. What it would be like to drop the pretense of the light touch and take his palm, broad and firm, and press it down her thigh. And hook her knee, pulling it over his leg, to bring them even closer, pressed along the entire length of their bodies. And he would slide his hand, almost rough and almost drunk, all the way up against the skin of her back to her neck line. And feel her arms intertwine around his neck. And she would turn her face against the side of his head and he would hear her breathing, quick and a little shaky. And –

His mind doesn't go any further, it stops right there as though there's an invisible magical force field. Because at this point, his idea about their relationship still stands rock solid. He's not even aware there's something more to go on to. He slows his motion, just traces a small, barely significant pattern against her shoulder.

Eventually she drifts to sleep, and he magics his black robe over to them, draping it like a blanket. He falls asleep with her right there, his hand curled around to rest flat against the small of her back, underneath her bunched up shirt. It doesn't occur to him to be truly self-conscious about their relationship until a few days later, when Alanna, green and queasy, fixes him with an intense violet gaze and says,

"I think you need to be careful, Numair."

.

.

**A/N:** I have always loved this series, and I love these two in particular. So it's coming out. Standard disclaimers apply.


	2. A nauseous warning

**2.**

**A nauseous warning. When not puking, Alanna keeps it real. **

.

_If anyone, ever again, says something about the poetry of sea faring_

_He will most likely turn them into something_

_Seaworthy._

_He misses solid ground beneath his feet,_

_Both literally_

_And metaphorically. _

.

Alanna'a face is a study of color. Because her brews aren't getting any better, just having a cumulatively off-putting effect, it takes Numair a few moments to realize that she's trying to discuss something serious with him. He focuses back on her face.

"I think you need to be careful, Numair." She says. Her eyes are extra-violet, her skin has a greenish tint, and her hair clashes terribly. He blinks at her a couple of times.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Daine." She pauses expectantly as he frowns at her. "I'm telling you this because I know you don't mean any harm – you can just be pretty clueless sometimes, especially about things like this. This is something I wanted to talk to you about since the incident in Carthak." Numair's frown deepens, he feels the stirrings of annoyance.

"Gods, Alanna, not you too. Don't tell me you've found palace gossips even on this cursed ship, and decided to sidle up to them. I know you're feeling sick but –"

"Stop that." She interrupts him. Then she adds, stern, but gentle. "I'm not talking about gossips. And you know me better than that. I'm talking about _Daine._"

Something unpleasantly twists in his stomach. He has a feeling that he doesn't want to hear what she has to say, and that whatever it is he should probably know it already. Shame, or a feeling close to it, before it has a target for what to be ashamed of, creeps up. He grips the rail, because he is seasick, and may vomit. This is why they have been standing out here in the first place. Alanna continues.

"And now – I know she slept in your rooms the last two nights. No, I know that nothing like _that _is going on—" she stops him when he opens his mouth to interrupt, "And I know the two of you think you can live in some sort of bubble outside of caring about her reputation or yours – I understand that, too, I've been there. That's not what I'm talking about.

"Daine is growing up, Numair. She's not a child anymore. And the way you interact with her – I think you're starting to blur lines that maybe you shouldn't be."

He wouldn't stand this conversation, if it were coming from anyone else in the world but Alanna. Possibly, not even then, if he were not trapped at the edge of the boat by a continuously-churning stomach. He _hates_ this conversation. He hates the implication that there is something corrupt about the beautiful bond he shares with his student and friend. He thinks their connection is pure, delicate and wonderful – and unlike one he has ever shared with anyone. The talk that sullies this bond is all more distasteful when it comes from his friends – when it's not a stupid gossip that he can brush off.

And maybe, he is terrified of uncovering what his real stance might be on their relationship. He does not want to think about it deeply because, for once, maybe he doesn't want to learn. But admitting even that at this point is out of his reach. His nausea reels. Alanna keeps talking.

"She spends _all_ her time with you. And yes I know you're her teacher but you're also – _older_, and you're a _legend_, and she has such a deep love for you already. Do you understand what I'm saying? You're putting the two of you in a position where if you're not careful – she just won't have a _choice _but to develop certain feelings. And what are you going to do then? She is fifteen years old. And she's not just someone – she's _our Daine_. I _know_, Numair, I understand – what the two of you have is incredibly special. But I don't want something like this to ruin things between you. And I care for her very much, too. I feel it is my place to speak up for her."

She punctuates the last statement by bending over the edge of the boat and violently heaving. Numair pinches his nose and tries not to listen to her – he's sure if he does he'll turn inside out, too.

.

.

A/N: Of course someone would notice. Of course Alanna would speak up.

Standard disclaimers apply.


	3. Beautiful, buxom, mature

Chapter summary: This feeling has a name, Daine, but you will learn it later. (Daine's growing up is not all about Numair. But mostly it is.)

**3.**

**Beautiful, buxom, mature**

.

_You get your young girls drunk_

_"__On wine on poetry on virtue"_

_You spin them around and play them your tunes and pour them just one more. _

_And then you blame them_

_When they are throwing up at your feet?_

_._

The winter she turns sixteen is the first time Daine decides to drink at the palace festivities.

She doesn't think she gets completely drunk, but she does go through all the equivalent stages. Starting with giggling against Miri in the loud smoky hall, and ending somewhere more morose when, later in the night, the Riders begin to head off to bed, sometimes in pairs.

Miri and Evin are still sitting with her, though, though she suspects they want to pair off together, too. But they're being wonderful and best friends and so lovely to her. When Evin brings over a bottle of something and starts pulling them outside, he makes a point that Daine is coming too, and Miri takes her hand, so she follows, and feels only a little bit awkward about it.

(She's not used to having this as the problem. Somewhere between the wars, the immortals, the trouble with madness, fleeing her country, and the blossoming of her magic, she missed this stage – of teenage floundering).

There are bonfires in the meadow where they exercise ponies in summer, with bubbling pots of hot mead and cider set out, and musicians wondering around, competing with the off-tune drunken bawling of the party goers. All the Rider troops have come out, most of the palace staff, and even some of the nobles (ones that aren't above this sort of thing). It's loud and rambunctious and fun.

They stand towards the outer edges around the fire, part of the mass but still a little separate so they can still be just together. Evin drapes a hang over her shoulders and passes her the bottle – whatever it is burns way more than the wine going down, and Daine coughs a little. But Evin and Miri are laughing and it makes her laugh too.

"What _is_ that?" Daine chokes. Evin takes the bottle from her and takes a big swig, and passes it to MIri. They're both slightly taller than Daine so they smile at each other over her. They're also both slightly more drunk – she can feel Evin swaying a little because he's sort of holding on to her.

"We're contributing to your education!"

"That's right - we can't leave _everything_ to Master Numair!" Miri giggles. "I'm _sure _there are subjects that he won't cover with you. Or _un_cover with you." They both burst out laughing again.

Daine thinks that's a sexual innuendo, but she doesn't really want to deal with that right now, especially not from Evin and Miri. So she takes it as a comment about the drinking. She grins at them and takes the bottle back from Miri.

"I'm ready to be educated."

"Atta girl!" Say Evin, and swings her around in a dance-of-sorts for a while.

It's not even that cold, between the fire and the whiskey and the three of them standing pressed up against each other. They stay out for awhile, and Daine feels relaxed and happy and light.

Then Evin starts playing with her hair and Miri keeps holding her hand. She feels Miri's cheek press against her own (cool and smooth). And Miri is laughing and wonderful, and Daine thinks, Miri could probably talk to the whales, too, if she wanted to, she probably grew up talking to them without even realizing. She's feeling so much love and affection for her friend, and Evin's hands are warm where they're touching her neck, he's standing right behind her and she can feel his voice rumble even through her coat. Miri's cheek is cool and she's still holding her hand, there's brawling music, and happy screams, and the fire is orange casting blue shadows on the snow. Everything is spinning just a little bit so that she feels so light, and then Miri kisses her, with cool chapped lips, on the mouth.

Daine's heart skips and flips over.

She stays there for just a moment, then comes to her senses and pulls back fast.

She can't go very far because she's still standing right against Evin, whose laugh (warm and without any malice) is reverberating though her back. Miri grins at her. Her eyes are bright, with dancing reflections of the firelights. She leans in again, kisses the corner to Daine's mouth, then kisses her fully again. Daine's heart beats fast. She doesn't know what to make of it, but it's not unpleasant. For her first kiss.

"Not a part of your usual lessons?" Miri laughs when she pulls back, seeing the slightly dazed expression on Daine's face.

"Or is it?" Suggests Evin.

It's a little too much, to have the image of Numair come up in between all of this. She shakes her head vigorously. Miri squeezes her hand and steps back, smiling. They're still being her friends. They're not pushing anything. Evin passes her the bottle again, and he doesn't try to kiss her.

.

.

.

The two of them do leave eventually (together), but Daine tells them she wants to stay by the fire a little longer. She's too on-edge and confused to head to bed yet. She's about to get morose as well, but feels a familiar presence in the corner of her mind. It's Tahoi! Which means Onua is probably nearby, as well. Daine can't think of anyone she wants to be with more right now. Onua is the most straightforward person she knows. Things are never confusing with Onua.

Daine follows a thin line of her magic to Tahoi. It's a little bit hard to walk in a straight line but she feels proud of herself for not stumbling.

Onua is sitting with her head in her hands, and Daine doesn't really understand what is going on when the other woman sees her, rolls her eyes, and starts laughing.

"Oh no," says Onua. "Not you, too." Then Daine sees that, just a few feet from Onua, a girl – one of this year's newest and youngest Rider recruits – is on her knees, throwing up. Daine sways, a little queasy at the sight. Then realizes what Onua is implying.

"No! I'm not. I'm fine. I'm not even – " Her cheeks are red, but Onua doesn't really seem to care. She sighs as Daine sits down next to her (making it a point of being graceful and purposeful and not at all sloppy). The girl moans a little. "Is she OK?" Daine asks.

"Numair went to bring reinforcements. She's fine – but her troop rides out tomorrow morning to a new winter training camp. I tell Sarge this every time – they may be soldiers, but they're still – _so young_." She looks sideways at Daine again for a moment. "What's going on with you?"

"I'm fine." Daine says quickly.

Numair comes up to them, with him a woman. Daine starts to feel weary before she even realizes why. It's clear, even though there's nothing you could put your finger on, from the way they're walking together, from the way they stand – there's something going on between them. Daine doesn't often meet these women – Numair tends to keep that part of his life separate from her. She tries not to stare.

"Hello, Daine." Numair says, smiling at her. She thinks of Miri's chapped lips and the comment –_not a part of your usual lessons? _

Daine thinks she probably just feels weird about it because of the things Evin and Miri were saying. And the other things that happened tonight. It's all just on her mind and jumbled up with the alcohol. She never gets silly like this.

Numair introduces the woman, who smiles at Daine briefly before she goes over to the Rider girl and kneels besides her. She's lovely, of course. She's tall and golden-haired and with a generous swell to her bosom. She puts her hands on the girl's shoulders and nothings extremely obvious happens, but the girl's wretching stops. They stay still like that for several minutes.

Daine looks back and sees Numair watching the scene, smiling just slightly.

_Of course_ he likes her. She's beautiful and magical, she's probably talented and experienced and mature. She probably has a boudoir. She probably wears lace.

The image of Numair with a woman in lace undergarments comes up forcefully before her eyes. Daine scowls.

"She just needs to sleep it off, now." She hears Numair's lover say.

"I'll take her back." Onua says. She pulls the girl up, who is crying and saying something apologetic. Onua clucks impatiently. She's stern and no-nonsense, but she cares so much about the Riders. She's the kindest at moments like these. They head towards to barracks.

Daine turns and realizes that Numair is looking at her closely. She feels horribly self-conscious because that means the woman at his side is also looking at her, frustratingly patient and serene.

"Stop trying to figure out if I'm drunk, Numair." She snaps. His eyebrows shoot up. Daine wants to rear for a fight. The woman leans over to whisper something in his ear, he nods, and she retreats.

"I wasn't." He says, taken aback. "I thought you looked upset. Is everything alright?" Daine stares at him, her face burning. She _is_ upset, but it's ridiculous.

"I'm fine."

"Did something happen?"

She wants to shout _who is that!_ and _what are you doing?!_ and maybe something incomprehensible and maybe something else.

"I said I was _fine_ Numair. You don't have to baby me. I'm not a _child._"

Numair looks stunned. "Very well." He says. She thinks he looks a little sad, too. He touches her hair lightly and briefly.

"I will see you tomorrow, Magelet."

And he turns around and starts walking back inside – inside where his beautiful talented fantastically-Gifted buxom lover is waiting in her lace underthings. Daine sinks back down to the log. There is a bump against her side, and she turns to wrap her arms around Tahoi gratefully. She buries her fingers in the dog's thick fur. Humans are just too hard, sometimes, she thinks. Tears are hot on her face.

.

Then, two weeks later, the barrier collapses, and things change.

.

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_A/N: Three chapters in a row where someone is drunk and/or vomiting – how far can we take this trend? The second line in the poem is from Baudelaire's "Be Drunk". All other standard disclaimers apply. _


End file.
